He Felt Cold
by Fuebi
Summary: He felt cold, and something unspoken told him he always would be.


**Author's Note: **Found this and decided that I would finish it. Short and sweet, a little over 800 words.

**Warning**: Angst, and perhaps sad?

**Disclaimer**: You would _know _if I owned Kingdom Hearts

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He woke up with a cold feeling, which was to be expected because he was naked, and ultimately in a place he didn't know of. The first words out of his mouth should have been something expressing confusion, wonder, or fear, but instead the first thing out of his mouth, was vomit.

He vomited all over the ground he was laying on, and because of his empty stomach he only threw up more until the only thing left in his stomach was just air and gastric juices. He stared at the odd colour liquid on the ground he knew to be vomit, but forgot how he knew exactly what vomit was. He looked at his hands and wondered why he knew they were hands. He looked down upon his body and wondered why he knew it was a body, and took it upon himself (he wondered why he also knew he was a _he_) to start to move. To go somewhere that wasn't the vomit ridden ground. He felt the earth beneath him and felt dizzy.

So dizzy in fact that he just threw up _again _and proceeded to try to stand up on his own two legs by which he seemed to know were legs. He tried to walk, he really did, but being just like a new born, fell down and crawled, because in reality, he was a new born. He just didn't know what kind of new born.

He crawled and looked at his surrounding through half lidded eyes. He was so sleepy, and so lazy, and he could probably just fall down again and sleep, but the thought of sleep frightened him, like there was something waiting behind his eyes, something dark and frightening and reeking of some kind of stench. His stomach churned again and he puked. He wiped the small line of vomit from his mouth and continued crawling. His surroundings started to become dark and dank and scary and he wanted to know where he was. He looked towards and wall and figured walking would be a better way to look around then crawling, because he was getting no where at his pace.

He leaned up against the wall and started using the cold cement thing for support, and even though he was going slightly faster, it still didn't help, because his pace was still slow and his legs were starting to ache with over exertion. He fell onto the ground again and winced because his knees felt weak and his hands were cold and he was just plain cold all over.

What was it anyway? That thing that was supposed to envelope him make him feel safe? Protect him? Warmth? No it was something similar, but not quite. It was supposed to make him feel warm though, also make him feel content. But that was the thing, he didn't feel. Not even his heartbeat. He started panicking. His hand flew to his chest, where he seemed to know where his heart resided and indeed found no beat, no flutter of the heart. There was no pulse within his arm, no veins at all. He breathed and double checked almost everything. No, there was nothing. He didn't have a heart.

He must have had all other organs because he did puke, and he did think, and at that moment he needed to use the washroom. So why no heart? He could have felt curiosity, but found that was only a dull numb feeling in body.

He was missing his heart, and for some reason, he knew he would never find it. He was always going to be cold, he realized. He let his hands fly to his head and clenched it, as he let out a defying scream into the air. A little puff of breath came out of his mouth and he hit the ground with fury, but it seemed odd because he couldn't really feel the anger.

He tried to stand up again. A tree was his support, and the bark hurt on his soft unused hands, so he fell, once again, only this time into a small puddle. He laid there for some time, wondering how he wondered. He let his eyes slide to the side, where he saw something. He turned over quickly and realized that it was his reflection. He stared at himself and wondered why it didn't seem quite right, why it felt like he wasn't looking at the right person. No, that wasn't right, he was something, but for some reason he knew he wasn't a person.

Nobody.

That word flashed across his vision like fire and he felt a tear roll down his face and off his chin and into the puddle, where the image of his not-self distorted. He felt cold, and something unspoken told him he always would be.

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Angsty Fuebi is _angsty_.


End file.
